Dust by Ann McMan

Political investigator (Woman A) is hired to check out a squeaky clean senator –
is he actually a murderer with dastardly political ambition? Falling for the senator’s estranged wife is naturally going to cause upset, rage, attempted murder, etc but who can stop the dumb ol’ path of true love with such pesky minor concerns as imminent physical harm?

The path of true investigation is largely framed with minor childcare issues and an intimate knowledge of the local train schedule. This ain’t no Dan Brown canvas; this is a resolutely domestic type of political thriller.

Interestingly, there are no sex scenes, though there is a lot of sex. Instead, we just get told they are currently “communicating without words” and we discreetly exit the room and leave them to it. Yup, we all know what that means. Snigger. Woman B is so ‘enigmatic’, ‘composed’ and ‘mysterious’ on the first few encounters that I have to conclude she may actually just be expressionless. Post-shag she loosens up and starts swearing quite a lot, which I guess indicates that this is going somewhere and she really needed that! Luckily, she is totally loaded, so they can head to a hotel suite for a bit of “communicating” whenever they want.

Plot revolves around a few cool props: a tandoor, a pair of yellow skis, a Sixt hire van and a pair of prostitute’s shoes. The political whodunnit is certainly enough to keep you reading to the end, but it ain’t no romantic masterpiece, for sure. Maybe the author was having an off day – Jericho is excellent (review to come).

PS. I can safely say there is no such thing in England as the “metro police”. They’re called “The Met”. The only “Metro” we have is a right-wing newspaper they give out for free on the tube (subway).